


Captured

by TiedyedTrickster



Category: DBZ - Fandom, Dragon Ball
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Raditz is himself, Yamcha's dealing with all this pretty darn well considering, and he's not speaking to me anymore, and sorta press-ganged into the Planet Trade, himself as I write him anyway, probably, so yamcha got kidnapped, that's not how you use regen tanks, you cannot prove this would not happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiedyedTrickster/pseuds/TiedyedTrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually it's Bulma or Gohan who get kidnapped in these fics. This time, it's Yamcha's turn...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captured

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Baaaaaad things are done to science, but it’s okay, because it’s DBZ, and half their science doesn’t make sense anyway.

He woke up confused and disoriented. Voices echoed to him from what seemed like a long way away.

_“You’re sure this is normal?!”_

_“They must have altered him on the planet somehow – his true heritage is just now coming forth.”_

_“Okay, if you say so…”_

Footsteps leaving.

_“So… what’s **really** happening, Vegeta?”_

_“How the hell should I know? Whatever he is, he’s not saiyan.”_

_“Wasn’t saiyan…”_

The words made no sense, and the darkness pulled him back under before they could begin to.

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

When Yamcha woke the second time, everything was clear – too clear. He remembered going out flying to get his head on straight after his latest break-up with Bulma, picking up the strange ki signature, half-stumbling into the battle between Goku, Piccolo, and the wild-haired warrior. He remembered the blow that had snapped both of his legs, sending him crashing to the ground in the process, somehow managing to ignore the pain enough to get the little boy out of the spacecraft only for the alien to turn around and take _him_ hostage in a humiliating turn of events. He remembered struggling, getting overpowered, the other man’s arm around his neck and the scent of his blood, then blackness when one of his broken legs had gotten kicked and the pain had been too much…

Now he felt strange, half weightless, almost like-

His eyes snapped open.

-almost like he was underwater! He was surrounded by a translucent blue-green substance, and for a moment he panicked before consciously realizing he had some sort of device over his nose and mouth that was letting him breathe. Panic subsiding, he took in his surroundings. He appeared to be in a smaller chamber of some sort inside a larger one that had enough technical-looking apparatus to make Bulma’s mouth water. And he wasn’t alone. Some sort of… creature with an elongated head was looking at some of the machines, he could hear them beeping and whirring fairly well from inside his tank, thanks to the fluid. And, more importantly, he could see what the creature was wearing – armor similar to the stuff his crazy-haired abductor had worn.

Yamcha swallowed. He was in enemy territory and he had to get out, regroup with his friends, find out what was going on-

-find some clothes, because a glance down had revealed that he was naked, why the hell was he naked, what sort of sick freak _was_ his captor?!?

The creature at the controls looked up at this point and grinned at him, walking over to the tank. “So, you’re awake, are you?” it smirked, “Took you long enough. I’ll have to call Vegeta in so you can formally meet your Prince.” It poked a button on the device it wore on the side of its head, turning its attention away from Yamcha.

Big mistake.

Yamcha’s eyes narrowed, and he tested his range of movement. They’d been broken when he passed out, but his legs seemed fine now (how long had he been unconscious? (he’d worry about it later)), and his ki was fully replenished. Bracing his feet as best he could, he cupped his hands in the familiar position. The breathing apparatus prevented him from speaking, but the chant wasn’t entirely necessary. Yamcha recited it in his mind anyway.

_‘Kame-hame-HA!!!’_

The creature yelped as the ki beam barely missed it and took a huge chunk out of the control panel it had been standing by. Yamcha didn’t pay took much attention to it, just took a final deep breath, held it, pulled the breathing apparatus off his face and burst out of the chamber with the escaping fluid, landing in the outer chamber in a crouch.

It was there that he discovered an unfortunate truth. He’d thought the fluid in the chamber had been enhancing the sounds and images of the outside. It hadn’t.

It had been muffling them.

Everything was incredibly loud and in focus and the _smells_! They came from everywhere, inundating his senses and making him gag.

While he was still on the floor, clutching his nose and trying to process everything his senses were throwing at him, three new figures entered the room. Through streaming eyes Yamcha saw the crazy man who’d kidnapped him, another man of the same height but broader and bald as an egg, and a short man with a black flame of hair, a definitive widow’s peak, and more ki than Yamcha had thought it was possible for any one person to possess. He scrabbled into a defensive position as best he could.

The short man gave him a once-over then sneered, unimpressed. “Well he certainly _acts_ enough like a third class to pass for one, even with such pathetic ki.”

“His ki will improve with training,” the bald one said calmly.

“Mmm,” the short one turned to look at his companion and both the tall ones were focussing on the short one, and they weren’t blocking the door. Which they had failed to close when they entered.

Breathing through his mouth, Yamcha gathered his ki and seized his chance, sprinting through for the exit. He made it within a few paces of it, too, when the wild-haired abductor just _materialized_ in front of him and something grabbed him from behind – he wasn’t quite sure where, not his back, not his leg or arm or shoulder, but definitely _him_ , definitely from behind, and, just like that, his grasp on his ki was _gone_ and his strength with it. He collapsed, panting, trying to stop his eyes from watering with little success.

“D-dammit!” he hissed through gritted teeth, managing to turn his head enough to glare at his captors from the corner of his eye, “Let me go!”

The short man raised an eyebrow at him, then squeezed his hand tighter on whatever he was holding and Yamcha screamed, pain shooting up his spine worse than he’d ever felt before. Then the man loosened his hold again and the pain vanished, leaving Yamcha limp and gasping, tears trickling from his eyes.

“Do I have your attention now?” the short man purred. Yamcha nodded reluctantly and the man smiled. “Good. Firstly, you do not give the orders here – I do. Secondly, I am Prince Vegeta. You will address me as Vegeta or Lord Vegeta. The bald one is Nappa, the obnoxiously hairy one is Raditz – you will be under his command.”

“What, really?” his abductor – Raditz – looked surprised.

“Nappa and I have better things to do than waste our time on a weakling mutant like this,” Vegeta snapped, “You brought him here, he’s your problem.” He stood, releasing his hold on Yamcha, who decided to err on the side of caution and stayed down for the moment. “Get him some armor and inform him of his situation as we discussed, then get him registered or whatever you do in situations like this, I don’t really care.”

“Yes, Vegeta,” Raditz bowed respectfully as Vegeta and Nappa left, then turned to Yamcha. Scowling, he came over and crouched in front of him. “You know, all I wanted was to get my baby brother back and clear a damn planet – is that too much to ask? Did you _have_ to interfere?”

Yamcha growled at him. “You were going to kill off humanity!”

“So?” the man actually looked bored.

“ _So_?!?” Yamcha snapped back, cautiously sitting up to glare at him, “So that’s the sort of thing I tend to object to as a member of the human race!”

“Not anymore.”

“What?”

“You’re not human anymore,” Raditz repeated, “Unless all humans have tails.”

Yamcha scowled. “I _don’t_ have a tail.”

Raditz gestured behind him, looking amused. “Maybe you didn’t used to, but you sure as hell do now. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen – I’m going to be thinking long and hard before I use one of those tanks again, let me tell you!”

Yamcha only heard about half of this because he’d turned to look over his shoulder and seen the sodden brown tail lying on the floor behind him, the tail that some prodding revealed was indeed attached to the base of his spine. He could feel the blood draining from his face as it twitched and he felt it move, felt it period now that he was consciously aware of it. “What the hell did you _do_ to me?!”

“Hell if I know,” Raditz said calmly, “I just stuck you in a regen tank to fix your legs – you’re welcome for that, by the way – and set it to ‘saiyan’ since the tanks don’t have a ‘human’ setting. Didn’t think this would happen.” He smirked. “So, welcome to the saiyan race, I guess. Population, including you, my idiot brother, and my half-breed nephew: six. And we still don’t have any females.” He snorted, then stood and went over to a wall and slid open a panel, pulling out a folded cloth and tossing it to Yamcha. “Dry off.”

Yamcha caught the cloth and turned red, abruptly remembering that he was completely naked ( _how had he forgotten that?!_ ). He automatically hunched over, then yelped at the sodden feel of his tail snaking around one leg. “Where are my clothes?”

“I dunno,” Raditz shrugged, leaning against a wall, watching him, “Thrown out or burned or something. Not like they would have been any use, rags like that. Dry off and we’ll get you some proper armor, like Vegeta said.”

Yamcha swallowed. “I had my wallet with me…” it was an inane thing to fixate on, but he was feeling overwhelmed. He was in a strange place, surrounded by what were probably aliens, alone, and mutated. Even without the tail as an obvious sign of it, his senses were too acute for him to ignore – everything too loud, so bright and clear it was giving him a headache, and the smells… kami, the _smells_! If this was what the world was like for Goku (and it had to be Goku Raditz had come for), Yamcha didn’t know how the guy could stand it.

He numbly began to dry off as he thought, Raditz watching him disinterestedly. “What’s your name?” the saiyan asked out of the blue and Yamcha flinched at the suddenness of it.

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. Raditz had the power here, literally – Yamcha could feel his ki and it was impressive. “Yamcha.”

“Hm.” Raditz thought for a moment, “Kinda saiyan, but not enough. We’re telling everyone that you’re a saiyan brat who got sent off on your first mission and got captured and altered by the inhabitants of the planet you were assigned – that’ll explain why you’re so weak and any other discrepancies.”

Yamcha growled. “ _You’re_ the ones who _altered_ me!”

“Yeah. And you want everyone here to _know_ that? We’re not all soldiers – Frieza has some _very_ creative scientists who always love the chance to get their hands on a new… sample. If you’re saiyan, though, that means you’re automatically part of our squad, under Vegeta’s protection.” He grinned, sharp and challenging. “Which do you prefer – honesty and experiments, or a few lies and relative safety?”

Yamcha growled again but looked away (and where was all this growling coming from, he didn’t usually do this), and finished drying himself off.

“Good choice,” Raditz said, sounding pleased, “Looks like you’re a survivor, too. That’s good – we might actually get along.” He was quiet for a moment. “Yamu.”

“What?” Yamcha looked over at him.

“Yamu,” Raditz repeated, nodding, “That’s a good name, and it’s similar enough to yours that you’ll be able to remember it. As of now, you’re Yamu. Come on,” he turned and headed for the door, “Let’s get you dressed. Leave the drying cloth.” He added.

Yamcha froze where he’d been wrapping said cloth around his waist. “ _What_?”

“The drying cloth, leave it.”

“But-” Yamcha swallowed, turning red, “I’m _naked._ ”

“So? No one cares.” Raditz looked over his shoulder, bored. “But unless you want to _stay_ naked, you’d better follow me and leave the cloth. If you wanna fight like that, that’s your choice, but I don’t recommend it – it’s not very comfortable.”

Yamcha stared at him, swallowing, then, slowly, let go of the towel. He didn’t know what Raditz would do to him if he refused, or where he was. For now, he’d play it safe and pray he either got a chance to escape or that Goku and the others came for him. In fact, speaking of the others-

Yamcha took a moment and cautiously extended his ki senses, searching to see if his friends were anywhere nearby, only to retract them very quickly with a flinch. He was surrounded by enormous, hostile, utterly alien ki signatures on all sides, and, as far as he could tell, the lowest one nearby was Raditz himself.

He was so thoroughly screwed it wasn’t even funny…

Raditz must have taken the flinch for discomfort of some sort. “Don’t worry about the naked thing – like I said, no one cares. Not like half of them appreciate the perfection that is the saiyan form, anyway.” And he winked, actually _winked_ at him. “Now quit stalling and come on, Yamu – or the next request comes with a sprained wrist.”

Yamcha swallowed again and followed him.

Raditz paused in the doorway and looked him over critically, expression suddenly serious. “Stand up straight,” he ordered, “Don’t show them your fear – most of them either won’t recognise the scent of it or plain old can’t smell it. Don’t act weak, even though you are, or you might as well kill yourself right now and be done with it. And wrap your tail around your waist – there’s a lot of scum who’d be all too happy to yank on it.”

Yamcha looked at Raditz, then at his tail where it was swinging behind him, then back at Raditz. “How?”

Raditz glared at him. “How what?”

“How do I make it go around my waist? And don’t look at me like that, I’m not even supposed to _have_ a tail, how the hell would I know how to use one?!?” he snapped.

Raditz blinked. “You just- you-” he stopped and buried his face in his hands, growling a bit. “At least you’ve got the saiyan attitude down.” He glared balefully at Yamcha through his fingers before sighing. “If Vegeta asks how the hell you figured this out so quickly, you’re a godspat quick study, got it?”

Yamcha scowled. “What the hell are you-”

“ **Got it**?” Raditz repeated, taking a step forward and suddenly seeming a lot more menacing. Yamcha hastily nodded and the hostile feeling vanished. “Good. Now, pray to the gods that you’re saiyan enough to do this.”

Yamcha was hesitating, debating whether or not to ask what the hell Raditz was talking about, when the saiyan grabbed his wrist and pressed Yamcha’s palm against his forehead, just below the sharp widow’s peak, an intense look of concentration on his face, and information poured into Yamcha’s mind, not words so much as basic knowledge of having a tail and how it worked. Yamcha staggered back with a gasp when Raditz let him go, automatically wrapping his tail around his waist, a presence that was now at once familiar and foreign.

“What the _hell_ was that?!?”

“Certainly not a taboo ability that the elites have always been waaaaay~ more uptight about not using than us third class idiots,” Raditz said easily, turning to go, “Now hurry up – it’s almost third meal, and I’m hungry.”

Yamcha swallowed and followed him.

He’d been vaguely hoping they wouldn’t encounter anyone on their way to the armory or whatever it was called. This was in vain – while not crowded, the corridors most certainly weren’t empty. It was a major effort to simply walk behind Raditz, back straight and arms at his sides as various strange beings bristling with malignant ki walked by them, especially when he wanted nothing more than to cover himself or curl up and hide or, most of all, to _wake up_ from this nightmare.

A few of the creatures gave him a cursory once-over, but that was about it. It was still mortifying, and it was a relief when Raditz finally turned into one of the rooms, lined with compartments. Silently, the taller saiyan went to one and pulled out a black scrap of cloth he tossed to Yamcha. “Put those on.”

It was a set of the underwear-like stuff everyone seemed to wear in this place, and at this point anything was better than nothing, even if it felt weird. He looked up in time to see a set of gauntlets, boots, and a chest plate, all of the same make and colouration as Raditz’s, dumped in front of him. With a sigh he picked up the chest plate, the lightness of it surprising him, only to frown and turn it around in his hands. “How does it go on?”

Raditz rolled his eyes. “It stretches.”

“Oh.”

He slid it on and tugged his hair free – kami, even his hair felt strange, thicker, smoother. He’d have to find a reflective surface and see if he looked at all like himself anymore…

“No one cares if you’re naked, but your armor does denote your status in the army,” Raditz said calmly, either unaware of Yamcha’s inner turmoil or simply not caring. “The brown panels mark you as a third class warrior, the navy means you answer directly to Vegeta. Gold panels mean elite warrior, white on the rest marks a soldier who either leads a squad or works solo. There’s other colours, but those are the important ones for the moment. Got it?”

Yamcha nodded, pulling on the boots and gauntlets.

“Repeat it back.”

Yamcha sighed but did so.

Raditz nodded. “Good. We’ll come back and get you more small armor later – I’m hungry. So, next step, meal room. You probably need food, too.”

Yamcha shrugged. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Yes you are, you just can’t tell,” Raditz said firmly, ‘It’s a side effect of the regen tanks.”

“Whatever.”

Raditz smirked at him and walked out of the room, heading down a long corridor at a fair clip, and Yamcha had to jog to keep up with him. After a few minutes of a serpentine route, Raditz paused again and gestured to a wall with one hand. “One last thing before we eat.” And he pressed a panel.

Which was when Yamcha found out that it wasn’t a _wall_ they were standing in front of, but a window, and beyond it were stars.

Only stars.

“Here’s the facts of your situation,” Raditz said as Yamcha walked up to the window, “Just in case you were thinking about doing something dumb like running. We are on one of Lord Frieza’s space stations. You are the weakest thing on this station. Even most of the Dregs – technicians, medical personnel, cleaners, etc. – are stronger than you. If you go anywhere without me, Vegeta, or Nappa, you will probably be killed, simply because people will see it as a way to get at Vegeta, regardless of whether or not he actually cares about you and don’t kid yourself – he doesn’t. These are the facts.”

Yamcha swallowed and stared out the window. A faint reflection stared back at him – pale-faced, the usual unruly waves of his hair smoothed into the spikes saiyan hair seemed more prone to, though thankfully it was still following the laws of gravity for the most part. That, coupled with the armor and the tail… he slipped to his knees. It was his face, but it wasn’t him. He wasn’t himself anymore.

“Hey, cheer up, it’s not _that_ bad,” Raditz came to stand behind him, “You should get stronger pretty quickly, and this is a good job – lots of fighting, plenty of food, sex if you want it. Could be worse.”

“How?” Yamcha gritted out, “How could it _possibly_ be worse? You’ve taken _everything_ from me! Do you have _any_ idea what that’s like?!”

Raditz’s expression went blank. “Yes,” he said shortly. Then he snorted. “Gods, I hope you’re not this depressing all the time,” he grabbed the back collar of Yamcha’s armor without warning and began to walk.

Yamcha yelped as he found himself suddenly being dragged along. Then something in him snapped and he grabbed Raditz’s arm and used it to give himself leverage to twist himself and aim a kick at the back of the saiyan’s knee, and Raditz grunted and staggered, letting go. Yamcha flowed up into a ready position, tense and wary, watching the saiyan.

“Why do you even care what happens to me?” he demanded quietly, “I’m not the one you were after. Why not just kill me and be done with it?”

Raditz glanced at him. “Gonna be honest – and be honoured, I don’t generally do this with people - at first, you were just a bargaining chip. Kakarrot seems concerned for your welfare, so I thought I could possibly get him to trade his life for yours or something. Now, though? You’re an opportunity. Saiyans only squad with other saiyans – it’s a rule that’s been in play as long as we’ve been in the Planet Trade. Unfortunately for me, Nappa and Vegeta are both way stronger than me. That means I’m stuck generally working crappy solo missions.

“If I can whip _you_ into decent shape, though, we’ll be able to take tougher missions, get stronger, maybe get second class ranking, or even elite! Not to mention I’ll finally get a decent spar out of someone again.” he cheerfully slung an arm around Yamcha’s shoulders. “Plus, I’m not longer the weakest soldier in the entire godspat army. That is a _definite_ bonus!”

Yamcha squirmed, trying to disentangle himself. “Don’t make too many assumptions – I’m _going_ to be getting home again somehow or other, I _won’t_ be killing anyone, and we are _not_ friends!”

“We’ll see about that,” Raditz said comfortably, “I’ve been told I grow on people.” He dropped his arm and Yamcha backed away.

“Right, because you did so well with Goku.”

Raditz’s expression went black and in an instant Yamcha found himself pinned to a wall by the throat. “That was a miscalculation,” Raditz growled, “If he’d had any memories of who he really is whatsoever, it would have worked.”

Yamcha grabbed the arm at his neck, trying to lever it away. “Well it didn’t – and, from what I saw? You’ve fucked things up beyond repair. He’ll never go with you.”

Raditz snarled and brought up his free hand, crackling with purple ki, and Yamcha held his breath. After a moment, though, Raditz took a breath of his own and dismissed the ki. “Watch your tongue, _Yamu_ – and think hard about whether you want me as an ally or an enemy. It’s not too late to hand you over to the scientists, or the doctors to see if they can ‘fix’ whatever’s wrong with you. What’s it going to be?”

Yamcha held his gaze for a moment longer, then looked away.

“Again, good choice.” Raditz let him go and turned away. “Come on, we’re almost at the meal room.”

Yamcha rubbed his throat and followed.

Later he lay curled beneath a blanket on the bed he’d been given in a small chamber in the saiyans’ shared quarters, his tail a foreign-familiar presence around one leg, assessing his situation. He was trapped in a space station full of professional killers, with only a thin hope of rescue. For now, he’d wait, train, get stronger, learn what he could and, hopefully, get a chance to escape. If he couldn’t, well… all he really had to do was survive. The others would come for him, or use the dragon balls, or _something_. They wouldn’t leave him here. All he had to do was survive and wait…

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

Yamcha opened his eyes to find himself once again stark naked inside a regen tank. Outside, Raditz was leaning against a wall. He waved cheerfully when he saw Yamcha looking back at him.

“Hey there! Looks like it was too early to start you on saibamen after all, eh?”

Yamcha closed his eyes and thumped his head against the tank. Really, between the open hostility from what felt like the majority of the rest of the army and Raditz’s enthusiastic efforts to whip him into a ‘decent fighter,’ he wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Hurry up and get him out of there – I need to show him what he did wrong!”

Yamcha groaned as the fluid began to drain and thumped his head again. Scratch that, the answer was Raditz, Raditz was definitely worse…

**Author's Note:**

> …  
> …look, sometimes I just really want Yamcha to have a tail, okay? And to fend off the inevitable, no, this is not a ‘Yamcha is a wuss or gets Stockholm syndrome’ fic, he’s in shock at the moment and is actually behaving pretty rationally given his situation and that he’s got a power level of 177 at the moment. And no, Yamcha will not be going super saiyan in this universe as long as I’m running it (though if you want to take it out for a spin and make him one, go ahead, the water’s fine, just note me so I can read it, ‘kay?). He just doesn’t have the proper sequence of saiyan genetics to make the jump. That said, there are a couple new tricks he’ll be acquiring that will be useful. And no, I’m not telling what they are, because I hope to one day post another segment of this, though for the meantime it’s safer to treat this as a completed fic. Yes, Yamcha will get to be cool in these further segments – I adore Yamcha. And yes, for those of you who have read my adult stuff and know my preferences, I am planning for Radcha to be a thing in this eventually.
> 
> The nudity thing was forty percent fan service, sixty percent me looking at those few scenes we have of saiyans emerging from regen tanks (Vegeta and Bardock), both absolutely starkers, and no one seems to care, including them. So I’m assuming this is just a thing in the army. I mean, look at what everyone’s wearing! Plus, they’re aliens, you probably can’t even recognise half the stuff you’re seeing, let alone tell it’s genitalia! On a side note, I don’t think people wander around completely naked very often. This is more of a ‘the chute to the laundry room for the drying cloth is in the regen tank room, there isn’t one in the armory, no one cares, and I don’t want to make two trips, I’m hungry’ situation.
> 
> Also, just fyi, the thing with Yamcha wrapping his tail around his leg in bed? That’s a thing that I always write Raditz doing when he sleeps or is going to sleep – Yamcha’s doing it because he ‘learned’ how to use his tail from Raditz’s personal experience, so he’s accidentally picked up a few of his mannerisms as well.


End file.
